


Evillious First Person Collection

by gurosinner



Category: Evillious Chronicles
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Gen, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, References to Drugs, Self-Hatred, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-02-22 23:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 4,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13177497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gurosinner/pseuds/gurosinner
Summary: Accidently picked up first person writing from a friend and ended up writing a bunch of Evillious fics, aha.These are all first person works. Some topics might be a little heavy. Oops.





	1. Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide warning!

I could never..blame either of my parents for the fighting between them. They were both at fault, really, and they were both innocent. The thing that cause their downfall was a lack of communication.  
  
Some days, I told myself it was mother's fault. She overwhelmed my poor father, she refused to understand him, there was a disconnect between them. But I reminded myself of the horrible things my father would say to her. The way he avoided home to drink with that woman. And still, I’d remind myself of what my **mother** said behind his back. All of it, in the end, I could trace back to one… no, two things. The first is lack of communication.  
  
My father avoided home because mother overwhelmed him, but he never told her that. Never once did he tell her, “I don't like it when I come home, and you wrap yourself around me. I need personal space, Mira.” Mother called him a whore, a cheat, and a liar, because she didn't ever ask him, “Why are you having an affair with that woman? Is it something I’ve done? Can I fix it?”  
  
My parents didn't understand each other because they didn't talk to each other. It was a very simple solution, but it was never reached.  
  
The second reason, was **me**. They pushed themselves, forced themselves together because of me. My father was eighteen, I believe. My mother was just turning twenty or so. It was too early. I forced them together, I caused all this.  
  
As I contemplate that, at a speed I didn't know my thoughts could reach, I realize that things would be better if I had never existed. I can swim. I can swim to shore, I can live. But that’s not what I want. I want to disappear.  
  
I open my mouth. I breathe in water. I remember my father's face. The faces of our staff members back home, the people who raised me. I think of my father’s mistress’ face. She was beautiful. I can only pray, she talks to him, that she doesn't make the same mistakes he did, that my mother did.  
  
And with that, I drown.


	2. First Parallels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam/Eve Moonlit ft some stuff brought up by Katadenza. ♡

I grabbed her wrists, pointing her hands to me, eyes wide and curious as always. She swat me away, scolding me.  
  
"Adam! You know better than to suddenly pull me away during a spell!"   
"I just-" I look between her and the fire she lit without matches. I ask the question that was always in the back of my throat. "How'd you do that?!"   
  
As always, she smiles and shrugs. "It just.. happens, when I think about it."   
  
"Eve, I have a new question."   
"Ask it."   
"Can I learn magic? My mother, she was a witch, no? So, maybe I can do magic too?"   
  
She taps her chin, and nods. "It's not about your blood." She takes my hands. "It's about belief, and effort, and general ability. You must be disciplined and focused, eager to learn, and keep your ears and mind open at all times."   
"I can do that!" I lied.

I was not a person who could sit down and practice something. I could study, yes, but practice? It made me itch, to sit, to fail, to burn out. Still, I wanted to try it. I wanted to understand it, and if I had to learn the trade to understand it, then I was ready to practice, day in and day out.


	3. A Never Ending Torture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, another vent.

They say hatred is a learned behavior, and yet, I cannot believe them. Am I really to believe my self hatred comes from other people? That I was taught I was nothing, I was worthless? No. That is to hint my thoughts are not my own, that my feelings are not my own, that my self hatred is not my own.

All of it is mine. My hatred, my anger, my guilt; it’s mine. I wish, however, someone could take it from me. I have everything I ever wanted. I stole my brother’s face and name, I stole his personality and his way of being. Still, I hate myself. I have many women who would give their lives for me, many women I sleep with every day. I am satisfied, but I still hate myself.

Why? Why, when I stabbed myself through that day and lived, why did my old face and my old personality and name die, but not my self hatred? Why am I still tortured to this day, with a thirst and hunger for love I never had?

Self love is a far away thing I have craved for my whole life. Why haven’t I achieved it yet? The one thing I beg the God’s for has not fallen into my lap, and instead, I am given gifts and things I never truly wanted, but am forced to appreciate anyways.

I will never escape this torture. For I have tried. And still, it never ends.


	4. A Deep Frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A vent I wrote then redid.

It's so cold.

It makes my chest hurt. The way the cold comes in through my nose, it stabs me, it freezes my heart. I wonder. Can I feel warmth, after all these years?  
  
I've gone planktonik. I won't ever go back to myself . I know that.  
  
I don't remember.. _her_. _Myself._  I try to, but it's all misty. Like the cold. When she took my soul, I figured, she took my memories.  
  
Where did she hide them? Where did she hide my body? Where? Where?  
  
I want to be _her_ again. For _she_ had a will. A spirit. A fire in _her_ eyes.  
I have swirling winds and cold, cold breath.  
  
Before her eyes is a man we promised to use, only for a season, for a spell. But, I couldn’t leave him behind. He reminds me of someone I once knew. Someone who’s name and face are locked behind the cold mist that tears at my insides. But, I remember _his_ voice.

He is nothing like the _him_ I once knew. For he only looks like _him_. I have fallen in love with his face, his hair, his eyes. His voice, the way he carries himself is nothing like the man I can barely remember.

I miss _him_. I want to find _him_.


	5. The Switch (AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HOH Gallerian/Ma AU based on EGOIST by shero. NSFW warning.

Our meeting was like fate, the way you smiled at me, and our hands touched as you passed the umbrella to me. The way you smiled, was like a light going off inside me. No, not like that. Not yet, at least. I wanted to know who you were. What you were.

The second time we met, that ever so disgusting switch went off. We mixed ourselves together. A meeting of passion, and of addiction. After that, you never left my mind. I imagined your figure, laying on my sheets, begging for me. I couldn’t focus on anything but you anymore.

I joked, later, that you drugged me. You got defensive. It was only a joke, but I wondered, had you really? I lay there with you in my arms, our bodies still warm, and I questioned my attraction to you. 

I test every drink I’m offered. The nail polish you mock me for turns a bright red when coming in contact with drugs meant for… purposes such as that. Nothing happened when I dipped my finger into the wine. The scent, as well, was normal. 

The third time we met, you were cold. It was like you wanted me to leave, and never see you again. I wanted to keep you. I wanted to hold you tight, and let our souls merge once again. For the first time in my life, I was attracted to someone. That someone was you, Ma. 

I wanted to take you, and dye you in my own shade of evil. My own shade of being. I wanted to tie you to myself, forever, and never let you go. 

After all our meetings, you disappeared. I hated you for that. I questioned my attraction again, I told myself you put me under a spell only to leave me like this. You wanted to watch me suffer. You wanted to watch me cry and tear myself apart, begging for your return, unable to function without you now.

Then, you came back. I forgot all my hatred again.

We merged again; our liquids and voices mixing and running together until we both went mad. I truly was addicted to you. When you left, I was a mess. When you came back, I practically devoured your essence.

You ruined me, Ma.

Not that I mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the song: https://youtu.be/moGDzN_-77w


	6. Second Parellels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh look it's Adam, being a bitter lil bitch.

I was used to fear. Fear that with a snap of my fingers, my hand would be in flames, or I'd send out a strike of lightning. I felt it in my fingers and legs, the rush of adrenaline and energy I had to let out, that I couldn't control. It wasn't an energy I could get rid of by cutting down on the coffee, by chasing stray cats till I scooped them up, and called them my own.   
  
It was an energy that scared me.  
  
" _Marlon_." He scowled at me, as always. His eyes carrying that bright blue light.  " _What's wrong with you?_ "  
"Eh?"  
" _Your hands are shaking. You're spacing out._ " He leaned over my desk, putting his hands on my own. He scowled, realizing he went right through me. " _Tsk, I'll ask again. What's wrong with you?_ "  
"Oh, I.. It's nothing." He raised a brow. He could sense my inner feelings and thoughts. He could probably feel the energy that scared me so much. I sighed. I explained the circumstances of my birth, where I came from and what I feared.  
  
He shook his head. " _You won't just explode._ "  
"And how do you know that?"  
" _A witch told me. A witch I loved, long ago._ "

  
" _She told me that magic is a matter of practice and of self discipline. Not just blood."_ He attemped to flick me between my eyebrows, only to go through me again. " _You're worrying for nothing._ "   
"F-for nothing?!"   
" _For nothing, stupid, you speak Leviantan, right?_ "   
"...I do..."   
  
He was curious. He was strange, bitter, a soul older than my own could ever dream of being. He loved a witch, just as I loved one. I wondered, perhaps, if he was born of a witch just as I was. We were similar in ways I couldn't understand.


	7. A Living Person

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little all over the place sorry.

I wish I was a real person. I wish I _were_ a real person? I don't know how to phrase it. I want to be my own person, but there isn't a person to be. Every bit of me was shaped by someone else…   
  
My looks were to.. to impress.. to impress….   
**  
MY SOUL**   
it’s been passed around for so long   
**IT HURTS**   
  
My voice and the way I walk were because I wanted.. i wantED HIM TO LOVE ME.    
  
“My prince,” I beg and beg. “Save me my prince, save me.”   
No one will come for me, because I’m not real. I was never real.    
  
I was someone else. Long ago. Long long ago, before that bitter taste in my mouth, before.. before..   
  
BEFORE HIM.   
**SHE’S DEAD NOW.**   
  
I tried to bring her back.. When I killed him, but she wasn't there. There was only the monster I had become. The monster that caused an epidemic. I ended it, then, and yet SHE disturbed me. I wanted to die. I only wanted to die, but she TOOK MY SOUL.    
  
What am I saying… a made up person cannot own anything.   
So why.. why do I continue to ramble?   
  
I don't know. I don't remember.


	8. A Declaration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on this tumblr post: https://sonatagreen.tumblr.com/post/157235695949/a-tradition

I only had seconds to think, to do something. I knew I, personally, couldn't threaten Riliane but this... This was awful, even for her. I ran my fingers through Michaela beautiful hair. She was beautiful, even in death. In a line of quick, irrational thinking, It cut her hair to resemble mine, and tied to pigtails together. I rolled up the hair and hid it in my coat-- It was stupid but by some miracle, I managed to get out of there and get back to Keel's. I knew I wouldn't be able to reason with him to help me, so I went to Yukina. She was young, impressionable, if I was desperate enough, she'd help me, right?   
  
"So you understand?" I explained my feelings for Michaela and my plan. "You understand where I'm coming from, right?"   
"I think you're being incredibly rash!!" She half scolded me. "Who's to say the princess will even understand your message?"   
"Yukina!"   
"You have to promise the package won't be traced back to my family." She crossed her arms. "And that you will fight her yourself, Kyle."   
  
I accepted her terms. I told her, after all, I'd do anything for Michaela. Anything in the world!   
  
She shipped the package for me. Princess Riliane opened it, I'm sure. I pray to Levia she understood my declaration of war.


	9. The Woman Who Bought The Prince A New Wallet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Velcro wallet song play in bg)  
> Dedicated to zealousrebelmaker!

The opening of velcro was bothersome, to say the least. It was a sound that seemed to echo, seemed to just give the image of tearing something in two. Maybe I was overreacting, but I really hated that sound! And here I was, sitting across from Adam Moonlit, of all people, and in his hand, a velcro wallet.   
  
I much preferred the snapping of those wallets with the little metal parts that go together. Or with the zipper, as inconvenient as they are, getting stuck all the time.   
  
It was just the sound of velcro. I hated the sound of velcro. I watched the wretched thing in his hands. He pulled out plenty of money and payed the tab.   
  
As interesting as he was, I couldn't get over his damn wallet! It was such a small feat, but, it was enough for me to meet him for a second time.   
  
I bought him a wallet with a zipper. It made us a couple in the tabloids, but that didn't matter. I didn't have to hear that stupid velcro anymore.


	10. Third Parallels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect to write another set of "(blank) Parallels" but here we are.  
> This wasn't originally a Parallel thing though.. dedicated to Katadenza!

Magic. Is it something that can be picked apart? Something that I could put into words in a journal, to be reviewed by my peers? I don't know. I have only questions for you, my dear, how your magic works. Where does the energy come from? Do you pull it from the air, from yourself? From me? From the ground and the great forest around us? And how is it transformed? How do you control it, bottleneck it, as not to expel energy at such a high level we'd all be consumed in the flames and electricity? How does is feel? The energy running through your hands. Does it come from your hands, actually? Or, somewhere else? Does it leak from your body at all times?   
  
I have only questions for you, Eve. Even if you can't answer them, try to, in the simplest words you know.

I don’t mind simple.


	11. Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really hate having weird inspirations. I dunno know, I was kind of upset, so I ended up saying some stupid stuff, tried to write an apology but it turned into a fanfiction..
> 
> Warnings for mention of suicide and some light violence!

There’s a lot of things that keep me up at night. Things I’m afraid of, mostly, like the dark, or the possibility that there’s a dog somewhere in the house that will attack me when I find it, or the possibility of having a nightmare where I hurt someone only to wake up to sleep paralysis and guilt. But I’m also kept up by things I’ve done and said, and things I haven't done or said.

I told you I wanted to die. While it’s true, I shouldn't have said it. A friend of mine gave me a compliment, and I didn't respond or acknowledge it, as I was headed off somewhere. I took a nap and didn't wake up in time to see an old friend I haven't seen in years. And now, I’m here, unable to sleep (because in half an hour I have to dress myself, wake you up, dress you, see you off, and get on with my day) thinking about what I should've done and should've said.

Why? Why do I overthink to this extent? There's no answers that I can find. Not one’s that are.. obvious, plain, spelled out in a way I can easily understand and read them. I don't understand myself, and it angers me to such an unnatural extent. There's no reason “myself” should be a foreign concept, and yet, it is. 

I told you I wanted to die. While it’s true, I shouldn't have said it. You have your own problems, your own difficulties, your own responsibilities, and I should be the last thing on your mind. I apologize. I won't do it again. Please trust me in that. I'm sorry. I'm very, _very_ sorry.


	12. Marrying an Artist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is meant to have an ambiguous speaker. Those that had a hand in its creation know who it is ;3c  
> Thanks to those in the Discord of Evil for the conversation leading to this fic!

The smell of various art supplies will always be something that I'm hypersensitive to. He hates being watched while he works and hates showing off unfinished canvases, so the scent and sound of his material is how I preview his work. Oil pastels sound like the careful scrapings of a smudging stick against a canvas. Acrylics smell so strong, it fills my head and makes me think of all the beautiful ocean scenes he’s painted.

Now I wake up, and the smell is stronger than it should be, from our bedroom. I move my arm, just a little, and find he’s left me. I move my eyes and I see the canvas, moved from his studio to here. He comes back, mixing his paint in a cup as he walks.

“Morning! Don't move, please!”  
I groan, in a pitch of question.

“I hope.. You don't mind, I’m, uh..” He mixes quicker. “You’re beautiful, sleeping, so I gathered the courage and started sketching you..”  
“Oh?” I keep still. “Courage?”  
“I didn't think I could do you justice..”  
“I think you’ll make a beautiful portrait, Kyle.”  
“Thank you..!”

He smiles and sits down. His smile fills my heart and I feel the need to just stand, hold him from behind, pour my love into him. But, I stayed still as possible. I cracked smiles and laughed as he made conversation.

It's the happiest I’d ever been. Perhaps, I was narcissistic, my heart pounding in my ears at the thought of being immortalized in my husband’s art style, but it was _him_ I truly loved. His craft was wonderful to me because it was made by his hands. If his hands, soul, and heart graced it, it sas beautiful. Even myself, with all my flaws, could be beautiful. Even next to his own, natural beauty.

I loved my husband. I loved everything he did and created as if it were part of him.


	13. Unjustified Hatred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So someone mentoned what if Eve took on Michaela's life after she died you like the way she does with her other "incarnations" and I really don't think that'd go well, considering she's imitating someone? Speaker is Kyle.

I ran away with her, and I spent a fortune on our wedding, on pampering her, on keeping her as happy as possible. However, I'm not happy, anymore. I haven't been happy for a long time. I thought she'd fulfill me, make me complete and fill my life with love and happiness and bright days, but now that we're together, I think I might regret it. But what else was there for me? I had so little faith in myself, the only thing I could do properly was love her. And yet...

She claimed I had changed after "all these years," and that she barely recognized me. She said I was but a fragment, but she still thought I was kind and considerate and "just enough." She says she loves me, but I can't believe her. I think I might've even grown to hate her, but when I tell it to myself I can't help but collapse. I don't cry anymore. I don't fall, physically, anymore. But in my soul and my heart, I fall, and I fall forever. I could never hate someone that only loved me. It wasn't right. I didn't care if I had to change for her. I'll do it.

I asked how she remembered "me," she said I was strong, I was ever so intelligent and I always asked questions. Truth is, I had many questions, and I wanted to know many things. But I had learned when I was small, asking too many questions or asking the wrong questions... It got you hurt. It wasn't always physical. It'd hurt your ears, though, sometimes it made your eyes burn. I learned, the hard way, not to ask questions. I had learned, as well, other people would be strong for me. I gave up what strength I had, and watched on as my work was done for me. But now, for her, I'd change everything.

I went and tried to get a high, fancy education. It hurts. The lessons hardly make sense. I'm a failure, but I can't let her see that. I gave up my art so I could study more, so I could succeed more, but it didn't help. I'm still moving, it seems, backwards. I dropped out. I tried to impress her with my art, again, after a long time of having quit. She smiled, and she kissed me. She said I had learned something new and she loved it. That was all I needed to keep going.

I worked hard, I exercised, I gained back the strength I had as a young man and I cut a tree, by myself. I brought it home and she was ecsatic. We made a fire, and I tried to cook. I failed miserably and I couldn't help but cry from the build up of stress. I finally broke down over burnt food. She held me close and she sang me a song.. The same song she always sung. Then she helped me cook again. She said I was doing just fine, but I know she's disappointed in me. I'm not the man she remembers.

For, she doesn't love me. She loves someone who looks like me.


	14. Before the Execution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't ask me about the title just read it.

I had taken on her everything. Her face and mannerisms, the voice she used, the way she curtsied. I also took her beatings for her. The way people yelled at her. I even took her very fate right from her.

And now I am here. Beaten. Bruised. On the cusp of death, as the clock rings 3. I’m yanked from my seat and brought out to the public eye, where they attempt to kill me just with glares and words.

I do not cry, for I’ve cried enough. I cried enough for my tears to begin to clean my tainted soul, a soul which has taken her filth, grime, and all her sins.

I do not want to die.

But I have to.


	15. Fourth Parellels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think we've noticed what I'm doing here by now?

I wanted to know everything when I was a child. I eventually learned that was impossible. No one could know everything. And if they did, it’d tear them apart, surely. So I instead aimed to know as much as possible in my short lifespan. I was only human, after all.

She was very.. not human. She was different. She’d spent a year away, and yet, we found her the same as ever. In appearance, that is. She started her sentences in the middle now, sometimes, or forgot to finish them. She moved her hands to talk in such strange ways now, as if twitching. She forgot words. She forgot names. She made outbursts, out of nowhere, sometimes. She became needier.

Still, she was a witch. She’d taught me how to spot one myself, but, the inner workings of one I did not know. She was right here. She could tell me, show me. I begged her to show me how magic worked. Where did it come from? How was it the world was falling to near ruin because of it?

I asked her my questions, I was specific as possible, and yet she never answered one of them. She ignored me. If she didn't know, I’d be disappointed, but not.. dejected, like I feel now. But she _ignored_ me..

No matter what I asked, I never once got an answer.


	16. Fulfilled By Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been thinking about Kyle alot aaah.

Long ago, when I was young and headstrong, I loved a woman who did not love me back. All that time ago, and even in recent times, I thought I needed her to complete me, or I might die!

But, again, she did not love me, and soon after, she disappeared. Her body had gone cold, but my love burned hotter for her. Bow and arrow, I fought for her until my arrows were gone. I threw the weapon away and drew my sword. I fought for her like I should've fought for myself. Never ending, strong, with passion and a goal.

Long after, I still had lingering feelings for her, mostly of saddness and regret. I had caused her death, no matter how many times people told me I hadn't, I know I did. Still, another stayed by my side.

I assumed we were just friends, but I think she might love me. I don't love her, or anyone for that matter, the same way, but I will still accept her company and her kindness. I have lived alone for many years now, and have learned I do not need someone to complete me.

It's nice, though, traveling with Yukina. I never get tired of listening to her, no matter if her words are fact or fiction, I will always be happy to hear them.


	17. There's Not Always A Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "One time he [my dad] was crying and I asked him what was wrong and he gave me a hug and said there isn’t always a reason. I’ve held on to that."

Papa had cried before. He cried when he was tired, or when things broke, and he or mama or Bruno couldn't fix them. He cried when he got the news of my grandfather's passing. But he was never one to sit around, and cry in his own silence.

And yet, I found him like that. Silent tears streamed down his face, but he looked as content as ever, as if nothing had bothered him.

"Papa," I asked him. He hadn't noticed I came into his study. He looked up. "What's wrong, Papa?"  
He wipped his tears away, and looked at them on his own hand, as if suprised. "No reason, Michie." He whispered. "There isn't always a reason people cry." He then smiled.

It wasn't a smile. It was one with a foriegn emotion that I still don't quite understand.

I held onto what he said, even in the end of the world. I held onto that smile as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from tumblr post: https://staganddragon.tumblr.com/post/170588108006/soft-things-my-dad-has-done-one-time-when-he-was


	18. I Won't Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written as a vent. Its easier to portray emotions with someone else's characters, isn't it?

Eve. My hands are stained, and it's your fault. Though, I don't mean for that to be a bad thing. It's jut that.. paint takes two or so days to get off my hands and it's.. bothersome. Having your colours on my hands when I cannot see you.

The green-blue.. the meaning is life. This is why water has such a tint to it, why so much lurks beneath the surface. The blue in your eyes is the miracle of you. You're a miracle, Eve, you were so powerful even after all that'd been done to you.

I only remember fragments of it...

But, Eve, your colours bother me. I cannot use them, Eve, not right. Every piece I make in your honour falls short, so. I hate every attempt I make. I hate the hands that make the attempt. I hate the man crying over his spilled ink and his dirtied canvas- I hate myself, Eve.

I paint for someone- someTHING that may not even be real.

I see you only in the space between deep sleep and half awake. Who is to say I'm still sane? Chasing a woman I saw in a dream when I was but three or four. Im fifteen now, Eve, going on sixteen soon enough. Mother has been berating me to give up the dream, Eve, but I haven't produced even one peice I can show you in pride.

Are you even real, Eve? Are you there? Do you see my failures, do you beg that I not burn them? Do you save the ashes of them because you love them so?

Give me a sign, Eve. Something to keep me trying.

I may very well just quit trying, without it.


	19. Miracles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Coughs) I was thinking about roses and ??

I used to have gardens. One garden, really, but it was huge. And it was a big big maze, and there was a fountain, and I could sit around, and I could look at all the beautiful roses.

It's not like that anymore.

The Gardener doesn't grow roses.

"Gardener!" I order him. He barely looks at me but makes a noise of acknowledgment. "Grow! Me! Roses!"  
"Why don't you learn to grow yourself?" He glares. "Roses are too fragile, anyways."  
"BUT!!" I begin the stutter. "BUT, BUT, BUT..!"  
"Waiter.." He sighs, and pats my head. "Calm down."

I whimper and push into his hand.

"I used to have really pretty gardens." I begin the tell him. "I wanna see roses again."  
He pushes my head so I'm looking up at him now.

"Tell me about your roses."

He was always like this. When my emotions got the best of me, he'd sit down, dose off, and let me talk. He'd act like he was listening (or maybe he was..) and he's pretends to be interested.

"Purple ones are pretty, too!" I say, "Purple means mystery and love at first sight! Then, then, yellow, like my hair, is joy!"  
"You seem very joyful yourself." He mumbles, eyes closed.  
"I would be, if you grew roses for me."

He groans, telling me again they're too fragile to grow around the theatre. I yelled at him to grow blue ones.

Blue means miracles. Blue means all that's impossible.

An impossible miracle-- for fragile roses to grow around the theatre.


End file.
